


Time Doesn't Heal All Wounds

by brontok



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2013-12-10
Packaged: 2018-01-04 06:34:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1077743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brontok/pseuds/brontok
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the most precious hour of his life, and he keeps on going back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time Doesn't Heal All Wounds

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in LJ

You’re stuck in time, but you brought yourself here — and you refuse to move.

It’s the most precious one hour of your entire life, and it’s playing over and over again right before your very eyes. It’s the one hour in which you first met, kissed, fucked, and fell in love with Sergio. It’s the one hour you chose to go back to, and it is painful yet it is something you endure.

You watch as you and Sergio bump into each other near the bar. It still amazes you even now how, of all the people there that night, Sergio always manages to bump into you. You’re ordering drinks, he bumps into you. You’re weaving through the dance floor, he bumps into you. You’re looking for the men’s room, he bumps into you. It’s always the same thing each cycle; circumstances or timing may change, but you and Sergio will meet tonight.

Sergio bumps into you near the bar and he smiles. You see yourself smiling back and taking Sergio’s hand as he introduces himself. You remember that moment: him squeezing your hand slightly, sending a shiver down your back, and him offering to buy you a drink. By that point, you’re already too entranced with his smiling eyes and his suggestive voice, so you always say yes.

You always go to that corner table, and you know there will be a little small talk over your drinks. He will stare at you and lick his lips, and you will stare back and watch him lick his lips. The next thing that happens is something you know as well, but still you find your breath hitching in your throat as you watch you and Sergio start to kiss. You remember that feeling, when your lips first met his. He tastes like martini, and you like martini a lot. You kiss fervently, and even from a distance, you see his hand moving over your crotch, rubbing between your legs. And you have to blush a little because you see yourself welcoming it, opening your legs wider and arching against the hand. Sergio whispers something to you, and you can’t hear it from where you are, but you know that he said:

_Can I fuck you?_

And you said:

_Oh god, yes._

You watch as the two of you separate long enough to pay the tab and get out onto the street. You don’t follow but you know: in one of those alleys across the club, the two of you will be fucking.

You down what remains of your own martini and feel your own arousal burning. You can have your own Sergio fucking you tonight, but your Sergio is not here, so you get out of there and curl against yourself on your bed. You take your cock in your hand and put your fingers in your ass, and you have to make do remembering you and Sergio in that alley.

The next cycle starts out the same, but with you feeling a bit different.

You arrive early. Sergio is already in the club, but you haven’t yet arrived. You watch him for a moment as he downs his first drink of the night, gets on the dance floor, and hobnobs with strangers. You see Sergio like this and it makes you ache to be there with him, near him, around him. You miss your Sergio suddenly, and it’s the sudden stab of pain in your heart that brings you to your feet coming toward his direction.

Sergio bumps into you and smiles. You look at him and get the feeling that you’re in a dream. The smile is inviting, friendly and flirty at the same time.

“Hi.”

You can’t help but smile back.

“Hi.”

“I’m Sergio, and you are…?”

“Fernando.”

“Fernando…” He says your name with a curious lilt as you shake hands. You feel his hand squeezing yours.

And again, as if by muscle memory, you feel a pleasant shiver running down your back. You nod yes when he inevitably offers to buy you a drink.

After getting martinis, you and he walk over to the corner table, you almost leading the way. He looks at you curiously as you eat your olive first.

“I feel like I’ve seen you before.”

“What do you mean?”

He pauses to consider you again. “I don’t know. It’s just like I know you, or just that you look familiar.”

“Maybe I just look like somebody you know.”

“No… that’s not it.” Sergio smirks playfully at you, then — “I haven’t met anyone as beautiful before.”

You feel your cheeks flushing, but you can’t look away. He is looking at you and licking his lips, and you watch amazed as his pink tongue darts out to wet his soft lips, and his lips are moving closer and closer…

“It’s so strange,” he whispers, an inch or two away from you. “I want to kiss you so badly.”

And his mouth catches yours, or your mouth catches his, and you taste martini. You open your mouth wider to drink him in, and he obliges.

This is a dream, it has to be. You are here kissing him and feeling him inch even closer, yet you still get the feeling of being far away, as if you’re still in your usual spot in the shadows watching you and Sergio. But then you feel his hand over your crotch, rubbing against you, and you aren’t even a bit surprised at how fast things are going, just that you want him and you miss him — the consequences be damned.

“Can I fuck you?” You hear it from memory, and you hear it from reality.

“Oh god, yes.”

You and Sergio scramble to pay the tab. As he talks a bit with the bartender, you take a look around at the club, at the dance floor, at the people seated at the tables, at the people coming in the door. Sure enough, you see the other you walking in, and you immediately grab Sergio and give him a hard and fervent kiss. It’s a kiss that will bring all his attention to you and will make all other people shyly turn their attention away. You pull back later — not too soon, not too late — and you grab his hand to dash out the door.

He pulls you to the nearest alley, and you are kissing again and groping each other through your clothes, then under. He braces you against the wall and nibbles at your jaw, your shoulders, the back of your neck. Your pants are around your knees and you feel him hard against you. He brings his fingers to your lips and you suck at them hungrily, then you feel these fingers probing against you, into you, inside you.

“Sergio…”

He takes his fingers out then he pushes his cock in. You feel his hand going around you, searching for your cock and finding it. He pushes against you and he pulls at you, and for a while you’re in a dilemma whether to arch back or arch forward. He makes it easy for you though as he matches each frenzied thrust with each frenzied stroke, and soon he’s coming into you and you’re coming into his hand. He’s whispering your name over and over again against your ear, as if he’s testing it on his tongue, perhaps testing it against memory.

“Fernando…”

“What?”

He pulls away and he helps you right your clothes. He then brings his lips back against yours, and you’re short of breath again as he whispers:

“This might sound crazy, but…”

“What is it?”

“I think I may already be in love with you.”

You look into his eyes and you see he is a bit unsure, but you heard the bashful honesty in his voice, and it makes you ache again.

 _I miss you_ , you say to him in your head.

You miss Sergio so fucking terribly. Not this Sergio, but _your_ Sergio. Well, all Sergio are essentially the same — but they have their own Fernando and their own night when they met and kissed and fucked and loved each other for the first time. And you are not this Sergio’s Fernando. You have stolen him from his Fernando, and you have stolen this night, and that first kiss, and this fuck, and you have stolen this love that he now declares to you.

You should feel bad, but —

“Fernando?” He is looking at you closely, his eyes searching, thumb gently brushing against your cheek.

“Can I see you again?” His voice is hopeful now, and you remember this same night when your own Sergio had asked this same question, his voice also hopeful — but then your answer had been different.

“No,” you say now. “I can’t… I’m sorry.”

You read the emotion quite clear in his face, although this is not part of any of your memories. But it’s all so clear — the light in his eyes dimming, his smile faltering, his thumb tensing, his heart breaking. And the pain in your own heart becomes too unbearable then, so you push him, turn the corner, and disappear.

You curl against yourself on the bed, but this time, you sleep.

You return the next cycle, and things start out the same. You watch as Sergio bumps into you, smiles at you, introduces himself, and offers you a drink. You watch as you talk, then kiss, then touch, then head out to fuck. As you’ve come to decide over the past few cycles, you don’t follow outside but oh, you know you’d fuck. And Sergio will kiss you again, and he will tell you that he thinks he already loves you. And you know you will think everything’s happening so fast but everything feels so right, and when Sergio asks if he can see you again, you will say yes. And the following day you do see each other again, and on the day after, and the days after that. And eventually you will tell him that you think you love him already too, and both of you will be happy. And much later, he will die much too soon and you will be alone, and you will be lonely with grief. You will go back again and again to the time that you met, trying to change things — how things happened, small details and big details — yet the ending stays the same.

But now… now you feel a bit better. The pain is still there, but you endure, and you continue to watch. You feel better because you know that in each cycle you return to, you always meet, kiss, fuck, and fall in love with Sergio — but there’s now one trajectory where you break Sergio’s heart. He mopes for a while and goes back to the club some nights looking for you, and once, he would see you but not you, and by that time this Fernando (who hasn’t even met him) would have already met someone else, and eventually Sergio will get over it and find someone else, and he would fall in love with that someone, and he will eventually forget you and be happy, and he will not die much too soon and leave you lonely with grief, and you’d be happy. Probably.

At least the thought of him being alive and you being happy — sometime, somewhere — makes you feel a bit lighter and the pain in your heart a bit duller.

~~~


End file.
